


we're so young (we're probably gonna die)

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, some really weird shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 06:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How Sakaguchi devours Rakta's world.Alternatively, there's a new unsettling guy.





	we're so young (we're probably gonna die)

Rakta plays the piano.

That’s not all he’s good at, of course. Making a living by playing the old piano in the most popular bar in town isn’t quite stable enough. But it’s what he does in most nights, after closing his bakery and left with nothing else to do.

This little town is small. Not desolate. Just small enough that almost everyone knows everyone, where you can hardly walk down the store without passing somebody you know. But it is quiet at night, so the bar is quite a hot spot for those who are insomniac, or just looking for company. The sound of clinking glass, the quiet chatter of people talking, and the sound of glass against wood blends well with his music. Tastes just like a poutine.

Rakta has a form of _synesthesia_.

His is a unique one. He would hear sounds⸺ voices, noises⸺ and it would make him taste something. Rakta is by no means a perfect chef, but ask him to compose a delicious song and it would be a five-star meal for his listeners’ ears.

Piano was an immediate calling to him since he was very young. Other instruments never quite glide across his fingers well, doesn’t taste as mellow as a piano. He’s stuck to it ever since, piano being the only thing that resembles some form of stability in his life.

“Good work for today,” says Reijirou before patting Rakta on the shoulder. He knows Reijirou purposely makes his steps louder so Rakta would know he’s approaching; the sentiment is appreciated but being blind made his other senses sharper. This world is built for those with sight, that does not mean those born without cannot fare as well as those who are with sight. “Some patrons tipped your jar, you can grab them before you return home.”

“Of course,” he nods. The stool made a noise against the wooden floor as he stood up, and the chalk-like taste of overcooked potato chip passes by his taste buds. “I’ll grab my coat first.”

Reijirou chuckles, and his laugh sounds like the tinkles of a bamboo wind chime. It leaves a sophisticated flavor in Rakta’s tongue, like eating a hearty traditional Japanese cuisine. “You know the way. I’ll be cleaning the bar with Samael, just yell if you need anything.”

Once Rakta heads to the workers’ room, he hears the voice of someone unfamiliar. It tastes sharp. Like if you were to soak coconuts in rum, but you forgot about it for three years. He couldn’t get a second taste before the door slams shut.

-

Sakaguchi Kinichirou just appears in their little town one day and has made it clear that he has no intention of leaving. People said he just... appeared all of a sudden without anyone ever seeing him enter the town. Which was weird.

Either way, Rakta has heard people talking about him. He came into town with nothing more than the clothes on his back and some cash. He’s staying in Nakesha’s inn for the time being, though the young woman is worried that this Sakaguchi keeps extending his stay day by day.

Rakta thinks they just need to give it some time.

He was born and raised in this town, most of the people in this town does grow up here. Some moved in, like the doctor right across the street and their current priest. None of them show up so suddenly, usually there would be a word or two from the mayor who frequented their bar (even though it’s clear to everyone that the mayor and Reijirou have some... unfinished dispute) but there was none.

They just need to give it some time. Rakta has been here his whole life but he doubts these people fits the widely acceptable social criteria of normal.

This morning at eight, Rakta opens up his bakery as usual. People absolutely adore his sourdoughs, so when someone drops a loaf of baguette and rye on the counter⸺ he takes a moment to blink because he’s never seen that particular combo before.

“A loaf of baguette and rye, please.”

Ah. No wonder.

“Good morning, newcomer.” Rakta smiles.

“Sakaguchi.”

“Sakaguchi, then. Would that be all?” Rakta grabs a paper bag from underneath the table, bagging the items up and gingerly setting them down on the counter.

“Yes.” And Rakta hears the telltale sound of coins, as well as the rustle of a few bills. He takes the money and properly counts them before nodding.

“Here you go, then. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you.”

He hears the bell of the front door tinkle, and tilts his head when the door stays open.

“Have a good day, Rakta.”

The door swings close, and Rakta shakes his head. Strange fellow. Talks like it’s a bother to open his mouth, like he’d rather do anything than having small talks. His tone is drowsy, like molasses in Rakta’s tongue and a sharp hint of cinnamon underneath it. He doesn’t hate it.

It isn’t until half an hour later that he realizes he never told Sakaguchi his name.

-

“He’s weird.” Rakta, finally, admits to Samael. It’s a quiet night in the bar, and the piano is left untouched because he really isn’t feeling it due to this morning’s incident. All he tastes is that weird molasses-cinnamon taste, even if the conversation has already gone stale hours ago.

“Who?”

“The newcomer. The one staying at Nakesha’s inn.”

“Ah,” Samael says and Rakta tastes the sour-spicy taste of annoyance. “I guess so.”

“He doesn’t talk much.” Rakta shrugs one of his shoulders.

“No, he doesn’t. But once he does, he has nothing but scathing remarks.” Samael tsks, he hears the squeak of a glass. Sounds like Samael is using way more force in cleaning those glasses today. “If you’re looking for a good verbal fistfight, he’s your guy.”

“He was nothing if not polite when we met,” Rakta frowns. He barely recalls anything other than odd detail of Sakaguchi knowing his name and the taste of his voice, he couldn’t get a grip on what that man was feeling back at the bakery. As useful as his synesthesia, he couldn’t identify everything with it.

“Maybe he was in a good mood.” Samael shrugs. “But that guy still irks me. He smells weird.”

Rakta tilts his head, feeling his eyes blink slowly at what Samael said. It’s true that Samael has a keen sense of smell, sharper than average. You could hide a week-old sock anywhere in 6-meter radius around him and he would be able to sniff it out. “His voice _tastes_ weird, too.”

“He’s bad news, I tell you.”

“Give it some time,” Reijirou chides from his spot. Rakta hears the clinking of bottles and assumes he’s arranging the drinks on the shelves, who knows what for. “Maybe he just needs a little bit longer to warm up to us.”

“As expected of sire,” Samael practically _swoons_ and Rakta doesn’t need to be synesthetic to know that, “so wise! Maybe you’re correct, it was his first day.”

Rakta finishes his water at the thought, and moves towards the piano. Even as his fingers move in practiced ease, his mind still wanders. Molasses and cinnamon. Whatever could that mean? A combination of two unlikely tastes, they just don’t blend.

Sakaguchi doesn’t visit the bar that night.

He goes home.

-

Sakaguchi visits the bakery around 9 in the morning this time, right as Rakta finished putting more bread into the oven. When Rakta emerges from the backroom, Sakaguchi surprises Rakta by greeting the other with a good morning, to which Rakta responds accordingly. It’s still molasses and cinnamon.

“Trying new types?”

“No.” Sakaguchi says, and Rakta could hear him walking straight to the baguettes and the rye breads. Had he run out already? Maybe he had friends over, not that it was any concern to Rakta. “I ran out.”

And Rakta hums curiously, bagging the bread up and taking the money from Sakaguchi’s hands. “Had a group breakfast?” He smiles towards the general direction of Sakaguchi’s voice. “Must’ve been fun.”

“I ate it all.”

Rakta blinks. Two loaves of bread in one day seems a little excessive, but maybe Sakaguchi has a large appetite. Rakta’s own is quite small, a single loaf of bread would last him for three days.

“This _is _the best bakery in town,” Rakta says as he hands the bag over. “How did you know my name?”

Sakaguchi takes the bag, and their hands brush as the exchange happens. Rakta notes how Sakaguchi’s fingers are unusually rough. Like how a carpenter’s fingers would feel like, his hands are unbelievably warm and Rakta can tell all that just from a single second of contact.

“Pardon?” Sakaguchi’s voice is laced with _pretence_. The taste is fleeting and barely escaped his taste buds, goes to show how good he is at pretending and lying in general. Rakta doesn’t like that.

“The other day. How did you know my name? I didn’t tell you.”

“Samael told me.” Sakaguchi says, answering in stride and Rakta gives him the benefit of doubt. What he’s about to say is, sadly, cut off as Sakaguchi seems to be in a hurry. He bids Rakta a good day before exiting the store, the bell jingling to announce his departure.

Rakta rolls the taste of lies and pretence in his tongue.

-

“Did you tell Sakaguchi my name?”

“I don’t even tell the bastard _my_ name,” Samael says.

The workers’ room is desolate aside from the two of them, Rakta changing out of his coat along with Samael, who’s changing out of his stained uniform after an accident that happened right as Rakta arrived. Rakta frowns at the sheer unease he gets from Samael’s remark.

“What’s wrong?” Samael asked, and Rakta doesn’t hear the rustles of clothes anymore. He must’ve stopped changing just in order to hear what Rakta has to say.

“You never told him your name?” Rakta asks, turning to the general direction of Samael’s voice. He doesn’t taste any lie from Samael, just the watered-down traditional candy that blends well with the savory taste of _Okonomiyaki_ sauce. It’s not unlikely that Sakaguchi didn’t ask around, maybe Nakesha told him some things or he just happened to hear Samael getting called.

“No, he never asked. He only came here once.”

Rakta hangs his coat. “Huh. Weird.”

“Among other things,” he hears Samael mutter.

-

A week passes by.

Sometime in the afternoon, just as the orange streaks of dawn starts to sail across the sky and the heat tapers down ever so slowly to an evening chill, Sakaguchi steps into his store and leans over the counter as Rakta is rearranging the paper bags.

“Teach me how to bake.”

_What?_

“Excuse me?”

“Teach me how to bake,” Sakaguchi repeats, “and let me stay here in exchange for work.”

Rakta is, quite honestly, very baffled. “Did Nakesha kicked you out of her inn?”

Rakta senses hesitance in the air, Sakaguchi sighs and a rustle of movement might indicate that he’s dragging a hand down his face. He sounds… tired. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then?” Rakta prompts, crossing his arms.

“Money is just getting a little too tight for me to continuously stay at the inn,” he says and Rakta detects no lie, “I… I need a place to stay.”

“No.”

-

Rakta ends up with one new coworker, and fully renovated his unused storage room.


End file.
